


won't let these little things slip out

by megankelly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megankelly/pseuds/megankelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She watches as the Porsche pulls into her driveway. He honks the horn—twice. Normally she would make him wait for a move like that, but they’re already running late. She goes out the front door and is unnerved by her heart feeling so topsy-turvy at the sight of him in the driver’s seat. He's smirking at her. He looks good. He always looks good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't let these little things slip out

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place at the start of their sophomore year, so pre-Season 1. 
> 
> Title comes from "Little Things" by One Direction. :P

“Jackson, are you picking me up or not? I swear, if we’re late…” Lydia is sitting on her kitchen counter with her cell phone to her ear. She points her feet, admiring the heels she bought at Macy’s and the purple shade on her toenails. 

“Can you calm down?” Jackson snaps over the phone. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t be such a nerd about it.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to start my sophomore year being known for my lack of punctuality.”

Jackson sighs. “Lydia, you’re not going to be known for your lack of punctuality.”

“How do you know?”

“Have you seen you?”

This appeases Lydia. She smirks. “Yes.”

“And have you seen my Porsche? Because I think people will be thinking about how good we look in my Porsche.”

“Trust me, I have seen the Porsche.” 

His parents had bought it for him at the start of the summer, and he had called her right away, saying, “Lydia, you have to come over! You have to come over!” with more enthusiasm than he regularly allowed himself to express. She hadn’t come over right away because she knew that you couldn’t just drop everything in an instant to be at your boyfriend’s beck and call, even if you weren’t actually busy. She spent another twenty minutes reading from one of the novels on the summer reading list she had so thoughtfully constructed. Jackson was in such a good mood that he hadn’t even moaned at her that much for taking so long. Instead he had thrust a digital camera into her hands and told her to take pictures of him in the driver’s seat.

“Honestly, Jackson?” she had said, but she took the pictures anyway and was admittedly excited to take pictures in it together. That summer, Lydia became an expert at holding out the iPhone just far away enough and at just the right angle to capture both themselves and the Porsche at the height of beauty. Of course, once Lydia insisted on taking couple-y photos, that’s when the whole thing became unbearably lame in Jackson’s eyes, but he put up with it long enough to keep her happy. In her favorite, her glossy lips were pressed against his cheek as he posed with his hands on the wheel. It was one of her most liked Facebook photographs to date. 

“Then you know you have nothing to worry about,” Jackson says. “See you in a few minutes, babe.”

Lydia sighs and slides off the counter. She grabs her purse and heads towards her front door where she waits for Jackson. She taps her foot, looks at the time on her cell phone, then taps her foot more. Freshman year Lydia was a perfect student—perfect grades, perfect attendance, and perfect punctuality—and she has no intention of that changing now that she has a steady boyfriend, even if he is the hottest possible boyfriend in all of Beacon Hills High School and she actually likes him a lot and it’s kind of distracting. 

She watches as the Porsche pulls into her driveway. He honks the horn—twice. Normally she would make him wait for a move like that, but they’re already running late. She goes out the front door and is unnerved by her heart feeling so topsy-turvy at the sight of him in the driver’s seat. He's smirking at her. He looks good. He always looks good. But somehow it’s especially evident today, with his tight designer jeans, crisp, professional-looking button-up shirt, and his hair more carefully gelled than it’s been these lazy summer days together. 

She slides into the passenger seat, and before she can reach for her seatbelt, Jackson’s kissing her. 

“You look great,” he says, and leans in to kiss her again. 

“Late.” She pulls back and crosses her arms, though she would very much like to kiss him again. 

He mutters something to himself, puts the Porsche in reverse, and pulls out of her driveway, before throwing one of his arms around her and steering with the other, behavior that Lydia thinks is pretty careless for a fairly new driver. For some reason, though, she feels perfectly safe with him. As if he’d never be the cause of her getting hurt.

Lydia knows that isn’t logical, that Jackson can’t control, for instance, if another car comes smashing into the passenger side of the vehicle, killing her in an instant. It’s only her stupid teenaged brain talking. She’s read enough about psychology to know that feelings of invincibility are a classic characteristic of the adolescent mind. She also knows that sometimes people feel that way when they’re in love, but she doesn’t want to dwell on that. She knows Jackson feels something for her—that much was clear when he gave her the key to his house—but whatever he feels, he’s definitely not going to say it so she won’t either. 

That’s what she keeps telling herself, anyway, though it comes dangerously close to slipping out sometimes, like when he drops her off at home and she’s telling him goodnight and his lips are on her neck. 

“So are you ready to go back?” Lydia asks him. 

“Of course,” Jackson answers.

“When do you find out about swim team captain?”

“Sometime this week, but I told you before, coach practically told me it was mine.”

“He practically told you?” Lydia says. “What does practically told you mean? He either told you you’re captain or he didn’t tell you you’re captain.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “He told me what a valuable addition I was to the team and what tremendous leadership skills I had. I think that’s pretty clear.”

“Unless he’s grooming you for a bigger role next year and wants to give captain to a senior, or unless he knew he wasn’t going to give you captain and he wanted to make sure you knew that he still valued you so you’d continue giving one hundred percent or-”

Jackson’s not looking at her as he says, “Lydia, can you just stop?”

“What?”

“You’re being a downer.”

Lydia bites her lips. She knows she is. Most likely, Jackson’s going to be captain, anyway. But she wants him to be prepared if he isn’t. She doesn’t want him to take things for granted. She wants him to plan. Not everything will always come to him so easily, right?

But then she remembers Jackson killing himself at the pool training all summer and feels bad for even thinking that. Jackson works for what he has, she knows that.

Well, maybe not the Porsche, but still…

“I’m just invested…in you,” she says, which sounds stupid and sentimental. 

She’s afraid he’ll look uncomfortable, and maybe he really is, but he smiles anyway. “I know. But don’t worry about it. I’ll be swim captain in the fall and lacrosse captain in the spring with the hottest girlfriend in the bleachers, and you’re gonna be president of whatever eighty million clubs you’re in. This year’s gonna be great.” 

“It’s seven clubs, Jackson. And three societies.” 

“Excuse me,” he says.

She smiles. She believes him. It’s going to be a great year.

When they get closer to the high school, Jackson asks, “How badly do you think people are going to freak about the car?”

“You really should just be dating the Porsche.”

“Lydia, you beat the Porsche.”

“It’s just a close second?” she says with a smile. 

“Exactly.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “You’re so weird.”

That’s a comment that Jackson would not respond well to coming from anyone else, but since it’s Lydia, he just laughs as they drive into the school parking lot. By this time, mostly all of the cars are parked already, and everybody is inside the school, though they aren’t technically late yet. Lydia looks at the clock as Jackson drives around the lot, passing plenty of perfectly fine spaces. 

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to park somewhere where some moron is going to dent my baby.”

“And so you’re going to—what, not park in a high school parking lot?”

“I just want to find a good spot where there’s a lot of empty space around it.” 

Lydia is getting restless, especially when he drives right by another empty spot. “Then can you drop me off at the door then?”

Jackson asks, “Don’t you want to walk in together?” His voice is level, as if to mask something; she knows it’s disappointment. 

“Yes. Just…hurry up, okay?”

And he does, pulling into a spot not all that different from the others they’ve passed. Both Lydia and Jackson quickly glance at themselves in the mirrors before reaching for their things. As Jackson bends down to grab his backpack, he stops and says, “Lydia, come here.”

She hesitates as he stares at her, then leans forward.

“You have something right there,” he says, brushing his finger against her lip. 

Her breath catches just a little. Lydia feels caught, vulnerable, and it doesn’t make sense when he’s seen her naked that this seems more exposed. 

“Got it.”

It’s just a fleck of pepper from the eggs she had that morning, that’s all, though she isn’t sure how she missed it. 

Then he’s smiling at her and her breathing is normal again, and she feels it, that this is going to be a good year and she’s so glad it’s going to be with him. 

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.”

She gives her hair a toss over her shoulder as she exits the car, then waits for him to join her. He does, draping his arm over her shoulders, and they strut, in-sync, towards the school.


End file.
